


One Bantha Burger, Hold the Mayhem

by ASadHermitStory



Category: Star Wars (Marvel Comics), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Comedy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Missions Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24808675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASadHermitStory/pseuds/ASadHermitStory
Summary: Aphra orders 0-0-0 and BT-1 to go and get her a bantha burger, medium-rare.This mission goes, uh, medium-well...
Relationships: 0-0-0 & BT-1 (Star Wars)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8
Collections: Turing Fest 2020





	One Bantha Burger, Hold the Mayhem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weakinteraction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/gifts).



Although he didn’t like to admit it, in final analysis the conclusion was unavoidable: They were lost.

Triple-Zero turned his body left, and he turned his body right, servomotors in his Cybot Galactica leg joints whirring amid the noisy hustle and bustle of the street. “That appears to be a helpdesk A.I.,” he said at last, indicating a boxy bank of computers with a sign hanging overhead which read, ‘Tourist Information’. “Perhaps you could slice in and extract a city map from her memory mainframe, Beetee?”

BT-1 emitted a remonstrative string of beeps.

“Ah yes, forgive me,” Triple-Zero replied. “Sometimes even I forget that, despite appearances, you are more assassin than astromech. I suppose we could simply threaten to vaporize her to atoms if she refuses to disclose the location of the nearest Bantha Burger.”

BT-1 released a high-pitched whistle followed by an explosive _blat_.

“Alas, my homicidal little friend, I fear that you are right. Either such action would serve to alert the planetary authorities to our unauthorized presence onworld, and Mistress Aphra’s orders were quite specific in that regard. Oh dear—what shall we do?”

Specifically, Mistress Aphra had told them to keep a low profile and to not cause any mayhem, or she’d sworn she’d wipe Triple-Zero’s personality matrix off the face of the galaxy for good. She didn’t want any trouble here, she’d said; she just wanted a Triple Bantha Burger with Blue Cheese, medium-rare, hold the mayo, and make it fast—she was hungry. Like, very hungry, Triple-Zero, you hear me? Extremely hungry. Staaarving.

“Of course! I have a brilliant idea!” Triple-Zero would have snapped his fingers together if that had been within his anatomical capabilities, which it wasn’t. What he did have at his fingertips, however, was a hypodermic needle (or ten)…

* * *

First time lucky. How about that?

The fleshy one, chosen at random for his impromptu support role in the droids’ mission, had been most cooperative once the truth serum had been administered, most cooperative indeed, and given them the information they required: The nearest Bantha Burger, as it turned out, was situated less than a block away.

They abandoned the fleshy one slumped and unconscious in a blind alleyway. “I’ll admit it wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had. It was hardly an enhanced interrogation at all, in fact,” Triple-Zero said conspiratorially to BT-1, “but at least we know where we need to go.”

But they couldn’t get close. Bantha Burger was a fast food franchise of not inconsiderable galactic renown, and the queue was out the door. Triple-Zero scanned the queue and completed a quick mathematical computation, multiplying the number of fleshy ones ahead of him and BT-1 by the average number of minutes required to place the most basic menu order. “Oh dear. At this rate, we’ll be waiting for a minimum 2.3271 hours, and Mistress Aphra did specify that she was very hungry.”

BT-1 chirped confidently.

“Just leave it to you…? ‘Locked and loaded’? Beetee, what are you planning—”

BT-1 drew his biggest, multi-barreled blaster from one of his hidden tool compartments and opened fire. He also rolled a couple of concussion grenades up the queue, and that was only because he _could_. Also, concussion grenades made a lovely noise when they exploded, and bodies made an even lovelier one when they hit the permacrete hard.

* * *

BT-1’s antics outdoors had had an unexpected side benefit: They had also been effective in clearing the interior of the restaurant of the annoying obstruction posed by its already seated patrons. This meant that Triple-Zero was able to walk right up to the counter, BT-1 following closely behind, to place their Mistress’s order forthwith.

The Bantha Burger employee behind the counter was so unaccountably frazzled that it took her 49.8 seconds to notice that she still had two unserved customers. “Gods, what _was_ that mayhem out there?” she seemed to be muttering to no one in particular. Why were fleshy ones always so emotionally unstable? “Could it be…oh, oh Gods, a rebel attack…?!”

Triple-Zero approached the counter and fixed his crimson photoreceptors directly onto the Bantha Burger employee. “Mayhem, did you say? I didn’t notice any mayhem. No rebels, either. Did you notice any mayhem or rebels in the streets, Beetee?”

BT-1 slotted his blaster hastily back into its hidden compartment and whistled innocently.

“You see, ma’am? My harmless little friend agrees. No mayhem whatsoever. Now, I would like to place an order on behalf of my very hungry Mistress, if you would be so kind.”

The Bantha Burger employee noticed the droids for the first time. She started and then seemed to shake herself. “Uh yeah, of course. This’ll be to go, I presume?”

“Why yes, how could you have possibly guessed?” Triple-Zero said cheerfully. “I’d like one Triple Bantha Burger with Blue Cheese, medium-rare, hold the mayhem—I mean, _mayo_ …”

* * *

“Hey! Where’s my meiloorun melon shake?!”

“Oh dear, Beetee, I’m afraid we’re going to have to go back out there again…”


End file.
